Silent Eyes: Part two of the Crossover series
by Sandry of Ruatha
Summary: Sequel to Violet Eyes. Follows the gang through marriages, arguments, jokes and duels... We keep up with the married lives of our happy couples, and some new romance as well!
1. Default Chapter

A/n: Here it is, guys! I know you've been waiting an age for this, and I'm sorryit took me so long… Today is actually exactly one year since Violet Eyes was first released, and I had great fun writing it. Recently, it got to the point where I realised that there was no point stressing out over original stuff when I could just go back to fanfics for a while and do something I really enjoy. But I won't bore you with further details, so without more ado, welcome to **Silent Eyes: Part two of the Crossover series.**

Sandrilene fa Toren stormed out of the room, her brown hair whipping around her head in a tangled mess. Behind her, Jon was scowling fiercely, looking around for somebody to yell at. Throwing her head back over her shoulder she yelled, "Next time you want a scapegoat for your own stupidity, go and bully some squire who can't do anything about it! _I_'m sick of your temper tantrums!"

Jonathan growled in frustration, yelling back some retort and slamming the door behind her. Unfortunately, Sandry, too busy fuming to look where she was going, walked straight into Tris and Alanna striding through the corridor. Tumbling to the ground and cursing some words that Jonathon would have been very surprised to hear that she knew, she glared up at her friends.

"Why," she demanded, getting to her feet and dusting herself off, "did you let me marry that pig-headed, insufferable, ridiculous git?"

Alanna hugged her friend with her free arm, careful not to bump her with her new sword. "It's much easier when you can just sweat out your quarrels with swords in the courtyard, you know." She commented thoughtfully. "You and Jon ought to try it sometime."

"Thanks, I'll pass." Sandry waved a hand in the direction of her head, causing all her wayward strands of hair to straighten out and lie neatly down her back.

"What were you arguing about this time?" Tris wanted to know, tugging at the edge of her veil to get it to lie straight. "Honestly, you and Jon are at it like cats and dogs. I'm starting to regret setting you up, inflicting Tortall with such a quarrelsome royal couple…"

Sandry grinned ruefully. "Nothing much, really. He was trying to get away with blaming me for making him late to some meeting; I told him what I thought of that. We'll be back in each others arms by the end of today, we always are." Her smile grew slightly, as did those of her friends. No matter how much she and Jonathon shouted, there was never any question that they were hopelessly in love, and that they were perfect for each other.

Six weeks on from the wedding, and both Sandry and Alanna had settled down extremely happily to married life. Cythera and Raoul, too, were still bantering away in perfect contentment. Watching dreamy smiles flowering on the faces of her friends, Tris felt an unfamiliar feeling worm around in her stomach. _Don't be silly, _she told herself sternly, _you don't want to get tied down. Besides, who would put up with you? _Smiling brightly and carefully, she suggested, "Why don't we go find Cyth and Daja? We can steal some food and rant about the boys. It's not like we have much else to do."

Alanna glared at the grey clouds and pelting rain outside. "Typical." She grumbled. "Just when you really want to blow off some steam and go for a ride, some evil psychopathic deity decides to send us a rainstorm.

Sandry hid a chuckle and nodded at Tris. "Sounds like a good plan." Unfocusing her eyes for a split second, she added, "Daja's in her room, she says Cyth's with her." As they set of in the direction of their rooms- since the wedding, they had all been moved into bigger suites- Tris said thoughtfully, "What's Briar been getting up to lately? I barely see him."

The other two shrugged. Alanna said, "He's been spending a lot of time down in the lower city. Getting up to no good, I expect." She chuckled. Since the group from Emelan had arrived, she had learnt a great deal about Briar.

Adroitly changing the subject, the Lioness asked Sandry, "Has Numair got the things together yet? For the communication spell, I mean."

Sandry bit her lip, a shadow flitting over her face. "Yes, he has, actually. I'm going up to his tower tonight, with Jon. Numair's been resting- even for him, it takes a lot of power to do a communication spell right across the ocean."

Tris squeezed her foster-sister's hand quietly. Numair had been working on setting up a communication spell that would let Sandry explain things to her Uncle. It should really have been done before, since Vedris had been left in the dark with no word from his disappeared niece for six months and was almost certainly going to of his mind. All the same, Sandry didn't know how she was going to break the news that she wasn't coming home.

"He'll understand." Tris reassured her. "Your Uncle wants you to be happy more than anything else in the world."

"But what if he doesn't like Jon?" Sandry asked, her face pale with worrying. Her friends grinned.

"Look on the bright side." Alanna pointed out cheerfully. "He's five thousand miles away. He's not going to be popping over to castrate your husband any time soon."

Exhausted, Sandry gave a sickly grin. "Well, thank the Gods for that at least."


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Heads up for part two!

Jon had been unceremoniously thrown out of the bedroom he and Sandry shared, which was currently playing host to not only his wife but Alanna and Cythera as well. Taking the hint, the Crown Prince had vanished to do some sparring with the other two husbands, which mainly consisted of the three of them hitting each other as they desperately tried to work out what their significant others were saying about them.

Inside the lavishly decorated chamber, the three girls were sprawled across the massive bed, a tray of fruits between them, and talking avidly.

"What is it with men and socks?" Alanna demanded viciously munching on a grape. "Was I paying attention in the Convent? No. I expect _Gary _is better at mending socks than me, so why is it suddenly my job to be official sock-herder? 'Pick up that sock, will you, Aly?' 'Just darn that heel for me, will you?' As if!"

Cythera rolled her eyes with the air of a long-suffering mother hen. "Maybe if you actually _had _paid attention in the Convent, you would realise that picking up socks is just one of those things married women have to put up with… unlike getting sung at every night?"

"What?" confused Sandry and Alanna shared a rather bewildered look. Cythera groaned.

"Have I not told you about that? Raoul _sings _in his _sleep. _Songs about killing dragons, actually. Some of them are quite graphic." She grinned. "It's really rather sweet."

Sandry buried her face in her hands. "Sounds wonderful." She said grumpily. "At least your husband gives you half the bedcovers. Jon's _awful_, he always steals them all. I wake up shivering in the middle of the night."

There was a series of chuckles, and then the three of them each took a piece of fruit and munched it in silence for a moment, leaning back. Suddenly, Alanna said, "It would be a lot easier to be mad at them if they weren't so incredibly sweet, really."

There was a chorus of sage nods from the other two.

"Or, you know, if they weren't so funny."

"Or kind."

"Or handsome.

"Not being hopelessly in love with them would help, too."

There was another silence for a moment, and then they burst out laughing.

Meanwhile, Trisana Chandler was on a mission. She was curled up just behind a hedge, invisible to anybody approaching from either direction, and she was waiting. Because she wasn't particularly good at waiting, she had brought a book. It was about precipitation. She found this fascinating.

Specifically, she was waiting for Briar.

She knew he wasn't in the Palace, just as he had barely been inside the palace for the last three weeks. That meant he was outside the palace, and that meant that he would have to come back in through this garden. And when he did, she would be ready for him.

Until then, she was doing just fine with **_Wode's Ultimate Treatise on the Manner of Precipitation; the Third Volume; on the Effects and Causality of Precipitation over High Altitudes. _**She had just got to a passage describing the effects of heat and pressure on the speed of precipitation when a twig snapped behind her, and she realised that she could sense Briar's presence getting swiftly closer in her mind. Almost falling over herself in her hurry, she quickly (but carefully) stuffed the book into the bag she had brought, and jumped up, smoothing down her skirts as she did so.

She was only just in time. Briar, with his hands stuck in his pockets and whistling, strode round the corner and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of her.

When he had calmed down a bit, Tris said sarcastically, "That scary, am I?"

"Terrifying." Her friend shot back, grinning. "It's the hair."

"My hair is…." Tris started to protest, her voice rising rapidly as she glowered at her foster-brother. "Never mind. You are _not _going to sidetrack me, Briar Moss. I want to know where you've been sneaking off to."

He smiled innocently. "Who, me? Oh, you know…. Exploring the city, trying to avoid deliriously happy brides fainting all over me…"

"Nice try. Why don't you have a go at the truth for once? You are supposed to be a reformed character, remember."

"Point taken." He sighed, and seemed to consider things for a moment. Then he nodded decisively, and grabbed Tris by the wrist, making her yelp.

"What? Where are we going?" she demanded, eyes whirling. She hadn't actually expected Briar to tell her anything…

"You wanted to know what I've been doing. I want to show you. And there's somebody I'd like you to meet…"

A/N: In the next chapter: Sandry/Jon fluff, possibly some other pairings as well; Vedris makes an appearance; and Tris and George meet for the first time…


	3. Chapter Three

A/n: Sorry this has taken so long! I promise they'll be more regular from now on, but I've been on holiday. I'm afraid I don't see Vedris physically coming over to Tortall, but we'll see.

Tris pulled her sheer black shawl closer around her, biting her lip. The back streets and dark alleyways of Corus were not her ideal trip for a sunny afternoon, and the cold darkness of the shadows were making her uncomfortable. A tiny part of her was beginning to wish that she had never waylaid Briar, but her more determined self quickly thrust it back. "Are we nearly there?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at her grinning companion. Briar was clearly enjoying her discomfort. He laughed and tugged one of her braids.

"Relax, merchant-girl. Nothing's going to jump out at you."

"You say that." She retorted, glaring. "I was brought up _decently, _remember? I don't exactly have a great deal of experience with dark alleyways."

He smirked. "You should of tried it. I did, and I turned out fine, didn't I?"

"That's debatable-" Tris began, but before she could finish her comeback he had grabbed her wrist and they had gone careening down yet another side alley. Tris yelped, and only just managed to stop herself from screaming at Briar's behaviour. All this dragging round the city was beginning to wear her down.

Once she had caught her breath and contented herself with shooting daggers into her foster-brother's back, she managed to get a look around. They were standing in a relatively wide street, lined with inns and houses. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the day, all the curtains in the upper windows were drawn, and there was a chorus of shouting and revelry coming from the inns. Tris had been _warned _about places like these. If only her great-aunt Tabitha could see her now.

"Briar," she said, a little worried. "Are you sure we should be here? This place doesn't look…"

He grinned one of his easy, disarming smiles. "Relax, Coppercurls. You wanted to see what I've been doing, didn't you?"

"I'm beginning to reconsider that decision." Tris muttered under her breath, but she held her tongue. Briar gestured towards the inn they were facing, an old, ramshackle place considerably quieter than the others they had passed. Over the door, an inconspicuous and slightly shabby sign read: _The Dancing Dove. _

He smiled, and took her once more by the wrist. Opening the door- she noticed that to prolonged squeaking was a little contrived, as if somebody inside wanted due warning of any visitors- and pulled her inside the room. She gasped, very slightly, as she stumbled into the warm, smoky chamber, brightly lit by fires and candles and some high windows through which the sunlight streamed. There was a sudden silence, as everybody in the room turned to look at Briar's visitor. At the back, next to the fire, a chair scraped as a man rose to his feet. Tall, dark-haired, green-eyed- oh, he was handsome alright, but there was something else to him. He swept a mocking bow towards the two of them, and smiled a crooked smile that lit up the whole of his face.

"Briar." He said, leaning back to half-sit on the table, grinning at the young green mage. "Back so soon? And with a lady friend as well? My, my, the surprises ever end."

Briar grinned back. "George," he said addressing the man, "This is Tris Chandler, a friend of mine. Tris," he released her wrist, "This is George Cooper, the King of the Rogue."

A/N: Afraid you'll have to wait until next time for the Sandry/Jon stuff. However, 'next time' will almost certainly be tomorrow or later today, so don't freak out!


	4. Chapter Four

Sandry bit her lip, tucking a stray curl of chestnut hair behind her ear and tugging at the blue-grey wrap she had selected. It would be cold up in Numair's tower, which was exposed to the elements and had no glass in the windowpanes. Although he was technically supposed to live up there, he had always staunchly refused to stay anywhere so cold, and had taken rooms in the heart of the palace. All the same, the altitude was a boon when performing certain spells, and Niko had been ecstatic when he had discovered such a well-equipped, high tower to play around in.

She felt Jon's warm hand squeeze her fingers slightly, and she looked up into his face with a grateful smile. He grinned down at her, the heat from his deep blue eyes warming her face. He placed one hand gently on her cheek, searching her expression for some sign of sadness or fear. "Are you worried?" he asked softly, exposing to her yet again the sensitive side to the arrogant prince, the part only she ever got to see. It always gave her shivers.

"No… I don't know. I know he'll be happy for me, but what if something's happened back home? What if he's ill? Not knowing where I was all this time might have made him sick with worry. He has charms to show if I'm alive and well, but he never really learnt to rely on them… I just wish we could have got this spell arranged earlier."

"A communication spell over this distance takes time to arrange, you know that." She sighed and shook her head.

"I know, and I'm not claiming Niko or Numair- they've done wonderful jobs, truly they have- but I'm worried all the same. I tried to put it to the back of my mind, but I love him so, and he must be in such a state… he was never strong."

There was a pause, and then Jon said quietly, not meeting her eyes, "Do you regret staying here, then?"

"No." The forcefulness behind her answer was surprising, and she took Jon's chin in her slender fingers, forcing him to look at her. "Jonathon," she said, firmly, but with a slight tremble in her voice betraying her emotion, "Before I came here, I knew how to love. I loved Daja and Tris and Briar and Lark and Rosethorn and my Uncle, and I was happy. I could sit all day spinning and weaving and chatting to them, and I would have counted it a good day. I had everything I could possibly need or want in the world.'

'And then I got dragged into this place with no choice in the matter, into a strange land and strange people and a whirl of confusion, and I met you… and suddenly I could sit all day spinning and weaving and chatting to my friends, and it would be an empty day if you weren't in it. I realised I could never just be happy again without you there, because you had become my happiness, the beginning of all my hopes and the end of all my dreams. I realised that all my life had just been leading up to this, because we were meant to be together, and that if the world ended tomorrow, my life would not have been wasted, because I would have loved with all the strength of my heart and the fire of my soul.'

'When you asked me to marry you, I thought that would be the happiest day of my life, but I was wrong… because those words were just words, and these rings are just rings, but every day I wake up beside you I feel happier than I ever thought it was possible to be. Every day I think I can't possibly be any happier or love you any more, but then you make me heart a little larger, and it holds a little more happiness. You taught me how to live beyond the measure of man, so that every day when I look up and see your face, I know I'm looking into the face of heaven.'

'I love you, Jon. I will love you when the sun falls from the sky and the stars turn black, and I will love you when we stand before the Gods together, and not even death will tear us apart."

The torrent of words that love and long waiting had torn from her lips slowed, and she spoke the last ones in a soft, choked voice, the tears running down her face. She was vaguely aware that their hands, still entwined, were crushing each other, and that Jon, the strong, hardened warrior who she had never before seen weep, was crying too. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. "It's alright, Jon," she said, her voice barely audible, "no words."

They stood together for a long time, at the foot of the steps leading up to the tower, just holding each other in their arms and being in love.


	5. Chapter Five

A/N: Sorry this took so long! Life's been hectic…

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Tris scrutinised George's face, searching mercilessly for the tiny flicker that would give him away. His expression- sly eyes, crooked smile and all- was annoyingly unreadable. She frowned. He really was too good at this.

Was that a gleam of triumph? She bit her lip. She had lost enough money already today. Better not to risk it. "I'll fold." She said decisively, spreading her cards out in front of her. George grinned widely, scooping the pile of coins towards him. Tris gasped as he spread his cards out smoothly on the table.

"I had a full house, and you bluffed me for a pair of fives?" she shrieked, disbelief written all over her flushed face. "George Cooper, you are the most…"

He laughed, cutting her off in the middle of her tirade. "You can screech at me all you want, merchant-girl, you're still not getting your crescents back."

She glared at him. After just over an hour in the Dancing Dove, George had already adopted Briar's nickname for her, and she had already been cajoled into playing poker. If only her great-aunt could see her now.

Briar smirked, and leant over to tug one of her braids, making a little spark jump over the table and shock George. Tris giggled, than clapped her hand over her mouth, realising that she had just _giggled. _Tris didn't giggle. She raised her eyebrow cynically. Sandry was the giggle-y one.

To her intense aggravation, George yelped, shook his shocked hand for a moment, and than composed himself. He looked over at her, and raised an eyebrow. She scowled. Nobody but her was allowed to raise their eyebrow. Oh, dear, she was becoming irrational… She shot a dirty look at Briar. He had probably laced her fruit juice with whisky, or some such thing. He grinned back, completely unashamed as Tris let out a most unladylike hiccup.

"Briar," she demanded, her arms crossed, "Did you put something in my fruit juice?"

His eyes widened adorably, and he pouted, "Why, Tris, I'm wounded by your lack of faith in me."

She raised an eyebrow. Well, at least she could still do that.

George chuckled. "Shot of whisky never hurt anybody." He said, smiling that crooked smile at her. "Good for the pancreas."

She groaned. "You," she informed the thief-king, pointing an accusatory finger at him, "are incorrigible."

"I am a unique and beautiful snowflake."

She rolled her eyes. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

"I am, as always, a slave to popular public opinion."

"You couldn't hear somebody else's opinion if it danced up and down on your eardrum wearing nothing but a tea cosy and singing a song about happy little mulberries!"

He blinked. "I resent that, actually."

"I apologise."

"I quite like mulberries."

Tris groaned, burying her face in her hands. George continued, oblivious.

"On the other hand, if it was a song about bilberries… I'm not too fond of bilberries. You're sure it was mulberries?"

Tris gave up, and took another gulp of her fruit juice.


	6. Chapter Six

A/N: Sorry for the delay… Hectic life, y'know? I thought I'd let you know my general ideas for this series so far. In Violet eyes, we had three of our heroes paired up, and in silent eyes, the other three get matched. That means this fic comprises the pairings for Daja, Briar and Tris. Once Silent Eyes is finished, I will probably write a prequel to violet eyes, following Alanna's time at the convent. What do people think of that idea?

Finally, I wanted to point out that yes, I know, Daine is way too old in this fic. Deal with it.

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Daja Kisubo pulled the last nail out of the water bucket, put it in line with the others, and poured the rest of the warm water over her head. She could feel the sharp tang of the minerals where the beads of moisture lingered on her skin, and revelled in that as she dried off. She had been making nails all morning, and it was more than time to stop for lunch.

Taking off her leather apron, she strolled outside of the forge she and Frostpine had commandeered. Her mentor was off on a trip somewhere, visiting some people Numair had recommended to him. Normally Daja would have accompanied him, but since there were no smith-mages here, there was unlikely to be anybody interesting at the summit. She had spent the morning filling up her required quota of nails and clips for the palace, in return for the use of the forge, and after lunch intended to get to work on one of her own project.

Lunch was, in fact, some bread, cheese and fruit juice taken in the central courtyard around which the forges were clustered. The light stone flagstones were charmed to stay cool despite the heat of the buildings around them, and the palace was always pleasantly breezy. Settling back against the outside wall of the building, she closed her eyes, sipped her juice and ruminated on the designs for the charmed jewellery she was making.

She had slipped unconsciously into meditation, gathering her power into herself as she considered and set aside each idea for the set. Lunch long forgotten, she was blissfully unaware of her surroundings, and happy to remain that way until she settled on a plan for a necklace that incorporated all the proper signs.

Unfortunately, her rest was short-lived.

Suddenly her meditation was interrupted when she realised with a shocked start that _something _was licking her face. Just as she opened her eyes, a huge, shaggy dog placed its forepaws firmly on her chest and pushed her backwards, pinning her against the wall and proceeding to cover her head in drool.

Inwardly, Daja sighed. Meeting the dog's eyes, she informed it tartly, "That is _not _appreciated."

From the other side of the courtyard there came a cry of "Lena!" in a scandalised tone. Rather awkwardly, the dog quickly stopped licking Daja's face, removed its paws and turned around to face its owner. Daja looked up as well, smiling slightly. You couldn't help but love a dog that affectionate.

The owner turned out to be a young girl, dressed in a shirt and loose breeches that hung of her hips. She had brown hair, tanned skin, and was blushing furiously as she hurried over to catch the dog. "I'm _so _sorry," she apologised, "Lena gets so excited when she meets strangers, and she's just not very obedient… She doesn't mean any harm, she just like you."

"It's fine," Daja assured the other girl, her smile wider now, "She didn't bother me."

The brown-haired girl flashed her a relieved smile. "Thank you. You wouldn't believe how petty people can be about these things, Lena's got me into dozens of scrapes already with the University mages… I'm Daine, by the way." She offered her hand, which Daja shook warmly.

"Are you a mage?" Daine asked, settling down on the ground beside Daja. "Well, I know you are, Lena wouldn't have gone for you otherwise. She can sense magic, you see. That's what makes her so excitable around here, there's so much of it. You must be very powerful, for her to like you so much."

It was Daja's turn to flush. "I'm an ambient mage, actually," she said, "so she was probably just excited to meet a new type of magic. My name's Daja, I came from the south- you know, with the new princess?"

Daine's face lit up. "Really?" she exclaimed. "Oh, that explains it then- I heard Jonathon was married, I was so sorry not to be able to come to the ceremony."

Daja's eyebrows flickered slightly. So this girl was on first-name terms with the prince? "You know Jon?" She asked diplomatically. Daine waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, we've met- at dinners and so on, you know, and when his father sends me or Numair on assignments. Funny," she giggled, "I never thought I could be so offhand about the Prince of Tortall, but there you go."

"Assignments?" Enquired Daja. "You know Numair?"

Daine laughed. "Oh, I know him alright. He's my teacher. He must have mentioned me- I'm the Wildmage. I've been on scout duty in the North lately, though."

"A wildmage?" Daja asked, confused, and trying to remember if Niko had ever mentioned such a thing.

"_The _Wildmage." Daine corrected her. "There are other people with Wild magic, of course, but my nickname is The Wildmage because I have more of it than anybody else around right now. " She shrugged self-deprecatingly. "It's not flashy or anything- I can't summon fire or anything like that- but it lets me speak to animals, and ride on their minds, and transform into their shapes."

The black girl was duly impressed. "You have to meet my friend Briar," she commented, "He's a plant mage. You two would get along well."

The Wildmage flashed her another beautiful smile. "I would love to meet him. What about you? You said you were an ambient mage- Numair told me about them. What does your magic run through?"

"Smithing." Said Daja, waving a hand to indicate their surroundings. "Metal and fire, and crafting things. It's a fascinating process…"


	7. Chapter Seven

A/n: Hey there, guys… It's your favourite Magess, come back to haunt you! Before I start, I would like to convey my undying gratitude to Debbie, for giving me one of my very few coherent decently long reviews. You raised two points: about the charming, and about Daine's age. Where Daine's age is concerned, THIS IS WHY PEOPLE SHOULD READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES- I do know her age is off, but hey, this story is AU anyway, she's fun to play around with. You do have a point about the charming- 'spelled' would have been a better word- but you can spell things to do that kind of thing in Tortall, I believe, and it doesn't take constant concentration of power. Kaddar had jewellery spelled to detect poison, didn't he?

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Briar strolled through the convoluted network of alleys centred around the Dancing Dove. It was late evening, and he had promised to have dinner with Sandry and the others tonight. All the same, somehow he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. There was something addictive about this place. It smelt of freedom.

He moves unconsciously, avoiding by instinct the street haunted by shadows. He wasn't in the mood to have to deal with some imbecilic amateur. In some part of his mind he had almost slipped into his old thought patterns, the ones honed to perfection back home- except that here there was no gang to watch his back.

This place wasn't really so different, he reflected silently. The streets could have come out of the thieves' quarter of Summersea without anybody noticing the difference. And Sandry and the others seem to be fitting right into the court here. We're all slipping back into our old lives.

They were a long way from Discipline, though. It was hard not to think of the cosy, sunny cottage they had all thought of as home for so long without feeling a slight tug of nostalgia. Well, the others all seemed to be managing fine. They had even fallen in love, for the Green Man's sake. He should have known Sandry would go for the princely type.

Not that he regretted coming to Tortall, of course. Meeting the people here had been worth the confusion, and George ran a fascinating court in Corus. He…

Suddenly Briar realised that he had broken into a run, and it took him a moment to work out why. Then his conscious mind caught up with his legs, and noted that he appeared to be dashing down a side alley- and towards the sound of screaming. By the time he had reminded himself that this was a completely insane thing to do, and that it was none of his affair, he had already pulled up short in front of a veritable melee.

It took him only a split-second to process the scene in front of him. Three men, scrawny and rather badly dressed, were tussling with a… lady of the night. She was dressed in a bright red dress, and her hair was down about her shoulders in black ringlets. It was she who had been cheerfully screaming for help, and the racket showed no signs of abating until aid was forthcoming. The men were becoming frenzied, trying to silence her.

Briar sighed. Just his luck to get caught up in this sort of thing, but he couldn't very well leave now. Leaping into the fight, he started cracking the men on their heads, knocking them down with ease. Dead drunk, he noted scornfully. Pitiful. Once they were all lying on the ground and groaning, Briar held out a hand to the woman, who was idly kicking them in the groins with the heel of her boots.

"About bloody time too," she said, clearly showing no signs of remorse for her situation. "I was beginning to think I would have to deal with them myself, and blood is _so _unattractive, you just can't get it out of satin. And I'm not entirely sure my dagger would have done the job quickly, it would have been altogether too messy. Shall we go? I think you'd better escort me back to the Dove. George will want to know the Trio have been making trouble again." Giving her aggressors a few last idle kicks, she set off down the road, her hips swaying gently as she went, as if out of habit. Shrugging, Briar set off after her, dinner at the Palace forgotten. This would certainly be interesting.


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N: Sorry! Sorry! I was on holiday! But look, I have a favour to ask…. You know the prostitute in the last chapter? Well, she's going to be rather important, but I don't have a name for her yet… Can I have some suggestions, please?

Daine Sarrasri was sitting on a rotten tree stump just within the forest's borders, poking at the ground with a stick. She was _tired, _she was _annoyed, _and she was _really, really hungry. _All in all, she was not really a good person to cross just then.

The truly annoying thing was that there was no reason for her to be in such a muddled, deprived, desperate, dirty state. She was supposed to be up at the palace, eating vast amounts of food that was too rich for her, drinking champagne until she started to drowse and trying not to lose her temper and insult the Baron of Mimbletonia or some other godforsaken backwater. Honestly, she thought to herself, nobles. More etiquette than sense, and not a spoonful of manners amongst the lot of them.

And it really wasn't her fault that she wasn't up there now. It wasn't at all her fault that Sundancer's foal had been premature, or that the little lady's mare was too narrow to foal easily, or that all the stable boys had passed out earlier that evening. It wasn't her fault that delivering baby horses was a messy business at best, and a disaster area at worse. And it _definitely _wasn't her fault that the blood covering her arms had upset the palace dogs when she walked past them, or that they had started barking, triggering a veritable symphony of howls, wails, calls, chitters and moans from the other animals, all desperate to know why their friend was covered in blood. She hadn't asked the animals to start swarming the party of young ladies and gentlemen who were strolling through the menagerie, whose screams brought the entire Royal Guard running, and disrupting the whole palace with alarms.

No, Daine reflected, life was definitely being unfair to her today. Which was why she had fled, too mortified to stay and face the questioning tonight. And so she was sitting on a rotten tree stump in a freezing cold forest, hungry, dirty, and quite, quite alone.

Well. Not actually alone. She was never exactly _alone;_ it was just that, at this precise moment, her animal companions were not providing the most uplifting of conversations.

_You met Fireheart today. _A robin chattered from the tree above her. Daine frowned.

_Fireheart? Why do you call Daja that?_

_Her name is Fireheart. _Honestly. Robins.

_Why is it her name? _Daine enquired patiently.

_It is her name. Her name is Fireheart. _The little bird started to sing arpeggios, puffing out its breast and squeaking slightly.

Daine sighed. She adored her friends amongst the People, but sometimes they could be aggravatingly oblique. _Who gave her that name?_

The robin paused for a moment to consider this, and then brightened, as if he had found the answer to a difficult question. _It is her name!_

The human girl groaned, gave up, ad buried her face in her hands. The only other one of her friends to warrant a nickname from the people was Numair, so why they had decided to give one to a relative stranger was beyond her, let alone such a cryptic one.

There was a rustling at the other side of the clearing, and Daine started, turning. A tall, elegant shape was looming through the leaves, stepping forward daintily into the glade. She waited with baited breath for the creature to move into the newly-forged rays of the moonlight, and then drew her breath in slightly from the sheer beauty of it. There was a stag standing there, his dark fur turned into the cloth of night by the gentle illumination, his antlers silhouetted like blades by the sharp light. There was something heartbreaking about him as he stood there, so beautiful, and so breathtakingly frail, like a spirit from another world. When he _spoke, _his voice was deep and caressing, the voice of raindrop pearls and tears and woven darkness.

_My child… _He said, and his voice was so slow, so painfully slow that Daine threw back her head and thought she would die of it.

_There are things coming for you, my sister and my daughter… Trust her…Trust yourself… _

And she could no longer dee whether the stag was silver and the night black, or the night silver and the stag black, and all these little words seems suddenly to mean very little in the face of that overwhelming, dreaming, lucid, cold, clear _reality, _and even as she swayed and fell backwards into oblivion she knew that the soft arms of the dreams would catch her.


	9. Chapter Nine

A/n: Some of you are confused about the end of the last chapter. Hey, that was written on a high; it has to do with Daine's need to come to terms with something that's going to happen to her and within her, pretty soon. Some of you should be guess it; for the rest of you- well, I'm bad at keeping secrets, so let's just say that love is in the air, shall we? For **Wildphire,**one of my most faithful reviewers, who asked if I was from England: of course I am. Why would anybody live anywhere else? West Londoner, born and bred. 

Briar was getting his bearings again. Item one; he was sitting in a table in the Dancing Dove with George. Item two: he was drinking a glass of chilled water. Item three: there was a girl- _woman_- in the back room who appeared, at first glance, to be the most ungrateful wretch he had ever met. In fact, she reminded him of Tris, and that was never a good sign.

All the same, George didn't seem to be displaying any signs of extravagant indignation on Briar's behalf. In fact, as Briar recounted his tale, he had a sneaking suspicion, based on the blinding twinkle in his friend's eye, that somewhere inwardly George was rolling on the floor with laughter. This was slightly aggrieving. He was about to point out to George that he really wasn't being very sympathetic to Briar's newfound plight when the door to the back room was flung open.

She was wearing a black gypsy skirt that swirled around her ankles and a tan blouse with long, sweeping sleeves. The long top was covered in embroidery, and her hair was swept back with a minutely detailed ivory comb. It was an expensive outfit.

George grinned broadly and stood up. "Elanora!" He crowed delightedly, pulling her into a hug, which she returned with a scowl that did not reach her smiling eyes.

"It's Ela, George, as you _well _know, and don't think I don't know you're trying to show me off to the guest, poor young thing." Briar bridled. Elanora's gaze swept across George's shoulder, settling on Briar for the first time. "Maybe not so young," she conceded softly, her eyes meeting his without flinching. "Come with me, why don't you?"

Briar blinked and frowned, but Ela had already caught him by the arm and was leading him firmly towards a corner table, pushing him down into one of the chairs and sweeping her skirt out before taking the other one herself. "Excuse _me,_" Briar said tartly, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm, "but what precisely are we planning to do here? Just to clarify?"

"I'm going to do a reading." Ela said shortly. Suddenly a pack of cards was in her hand; she seemed to have produced it from nowhere. "I always do a reading when I meet new people. In fact, since you were so gallant in the street back there," she flashed him a grin, "I won't even make you pay for it."

"You're too kind." Briar shot, leaning back. Ela chuckled and started to shuffle, the cards flicking through her fingers so quickly that Briar couldn't even follow their paths. She spread them out in front of him, the fan moving along the pack. "Pick a card, pass it to me, pick another one. Twelve in all." Every word that dropped from her lips was clipped, precise, focused. Her eyes had become trancelike in their concentration.

As he selected each card, his hand darting to and fro, she took them from his hand and laid them in a complex overlay. Something about the pattern she evoked reminded Briar of Sandry's weaving; she had the same deftness, the same innate instinct when it came to creating guides and moulding something beautiful around an infinitely complex blueprint.

She held up a hand to stop him when he had given her twelve cards, and he sat back again. Looking down at the table, he saw that she had arranged them in a tight circle, with some cards overlapping, and one in the centre underneath all the others. "Ready?" She asked him, glancing up from her intense scrutiny of the lay. He shrugged.

She stretched out an arm and took the first card with her fingers, flicking it over and placing it perfectly back into position. "The World." She said shortly, and Briar saw that the card was beautifully painted with a detailed globe, spinning through a blanket of night scattered with stars. Her hand moved on to the second card. "The King of Pentacles… The Four of Cups… The Sun… The High Priestess…" Briar noted that the High Priestess looked remarkable similar to Rosethorn. "The Page of Wands… The Ace of Swords… The Magician… The Four of Pentacles… The Nine of Swords… The Hanged Man…" Briar smiled.

Ela turned over the last card in the circle, and raised one eyebrow. "The Fool… Interesting. And…" Her hand hovered for a moment over the final, centre card, before she swooped down and overturned it. She let out a long breath. "Ah… the Lovers."

There was silent for a moment, and then Briar said, "Well? What does that mean, then?" he glared at her, but she only smiled widely in reply.

"Oh," she said airily, "I'm not going to _tell _you about it. That would ruin all the fun."

A/n: This is not supposed to be an accurate tarot reading, although it uses the same cards. I'm no tarot reader and I don't claim to be!


	10. Chapter Ten

Cythera was sitting on the balcony of her rooms, plucking idly at a lap harp and watching the clouds drifting across the sky. The days were getting colder, and she was determined to squeeze every from the last warm days. This generally meant lounging around in the sun, eating fruit, and thinking about whatever popped into her head. Today she had grapes, a lovely spot in the heat, and enough thoughts to keep her going past Yuletide.

It was incredible, really, how quickly everything had happened. Only a few months ago, she was still in the Convent, with no greater concerns than which dress to wear to Embroidery and what to plant in her garden patch. Then she had come to Court, and met- well, everyone, of course, but she had met _Raoul, _and suddenly all the thoughts that had come before hadn't seemed like quite enough.

And now she was married, and so was Aly, and it was dreamlike. She could barely remember now how she had thought before; as if, having discovered Raoul's existence, it was impossible to imagine how she had once been ignorant. Of course there had to be Raoul in her life; none of the equations came out right otherwise, everything went wrong and twisted.

But still, even after the wedding- and gods, what a wedding it had been- it often seemed that they were merely playing at love; _I'll be Prince Charming, and you can be the damsel in distress. _It was only at moments like this, or when she was alone with her husband, that it really sunk in; she was married. She was in love. If she died tomorrow and they cut her open, her heart wouldn't be in there any more. It was gone; it was beating in another body. The thought and the wonder of it made her feel dizzy.

It was perfectly real, and she had never been happier.

Today was the autumn solstice, and tonight was the traditional feast. It was one of the most important events of the Court year, and she _really _ought to be getting ready even now. All the same, she couldn't quite bring herself to leave the delicious comfort of her chair, nor the soft warmth of her place in the daylight. She could always call somebody to help her get ready, after all.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the sunlight that was making her squint, and lent back. Settling perfectly into her space, she was just starting to doze off when, suddenly, a voice sounded in her ear.

"Getting comfortable, are we?"

Cythera shrieked and jumped, the harp tumbling from her lap and hitting the floor with a crash. Raoul burst out laughing at the look on her face. She scowled even more fiercely, bending down to pick up the instrument. When she turned to face Raoul again, though, her eyes were sparkling.

"So," she said cheerfully, "all ready for tonight, then?"

Raoul blinked, still grinning. "Tonight?"

"Yes, dear. The ball."

"Ah, of course. The ball. Yes. That would be… tonight. Of course. Yes. The ball."

There was a pause.

"You forgot about it, didn't you?" Cythera said eventually.

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"That wasn't very clever." She was smirking now. Raoul shuffled his feet, looking bashful.

"Sorry."

"You should be." She grinned and stood up, smoothing down the front of her dress. She was wearing a loose, light shift; she had been feeling ill that morning, and hadn't been able to muster the energy to pu on something formal. "Shall we get on with it, then?"


	11. Chapter Eleven

Daja was leaning forward over the table, her chin resting in her hand, her elbow propped up. She watched as Sandry pushed her food half-heartedly around her plate, and reached out gently with her mind, sensing that this was a time when her sister needed the intimacy of mental conversation.

_What's wrong, sister? _She enquired gently. _What did your uncle say? _

Sandry glanced up and smiled sadly. _Nothing much, really. Only that he was glad I was safe and happy, and he made some jokes about Jonathon… but Daja, he looked so very thin… _She let the other girl see the memory of Duke Vedris' face, exhausted and flushed with emotion. Daja winced; that was not the face of a happy, carefree man. Sandry's disappearance had taken its toll on him; he had not looked half so old when they had left him last. Sandry was silent for a moment, and then raised a hand to her face and brushed her eyes. _It's not as if I'll never see him again, anyway… we can still talk sometimes, through the spell. Tell me about something else. Tell me about Daine. _Daja had mentioned her encounter with the Wildmage very briefly, and Sandry had found her descriptions fascinating. _I told Jonathon you'd met her, you know, and he was full of stories… apparently she's coming to the ball tonight, so you _have _to show up._

Daja groaned, but reluctantly acquiesced, grinning. Sandry was still complaining about the infinite number of balls she was forced to attend; she had never spent much time at social dances back in Emelan, and had only remembered after her marriage that that was going to have to change. She had accordingly made it her mission in life to try to drag her friends along to as many of them as she could. She was most often successful with Daja, who had always had a soft spot for Sandry's predicaments. Tris could now convey 'don't even try it' with a single raised eyebrow, which wasn't bad, even for Tris.

Sandry gave her a tired, pleased smile. Daja looked carefully at her friend; there was something new about her, something she hadn't seen before. She didn't know how she had missed it. Carefully she approached her friend's mind; there was definitely something there, some seed of a tiny foreign presence, almost imperceptible, almost as if…

"Ah," Daja said smugly, "you're pregnant. I should have guessed."

Sandry looked up and grinned. "I thought you might work it out. I mean, we don't know for sure yet, but…"

A slow smile was spreading across Daja's face. She leapt to her feet and sprung over to Sandry, wrapping her arms around her sister, pressing her cheek against Sandry's and laughing good-luck prayers in rapid Tradertalk. Sandry laughed back and hugged Daja, her cheeks flushed. When the smith-mage finally released her and went back to her own chair, smiling, Sandry ran a hand through her hair and took a sip from her drink. There was a pause, and then Sandry murmured, "It is a bit scary, though. I mean, you know…"

"I understand," Daja said softly. "Jonathon knows?"

Sandry shook her head. "I don't know- he might have guessed. I haven't told him, though, I wanted to be sure before…"

"I'm sure," Daja said positively. "If Briar and Tris weren't running off all the time, they'd have noticed by now, too." She scowled. "Actually, now that I come to think about it, Cythera and Alanna have been looking tired as well… and very pale in the mornings."

Sandry stared. "You think they might be… that would be wonderful!"

Daja shrugged. "You want to know, ask them. I only guess… will you tell Jonathon now?"

Sandry bit her lip. "I don't know how to, really."

"He'll be delighted," Daja assured her. "He'd better be, anyway," she added dryly, as she heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs that led to the room, Sandry and Jonathon's quarters. "Don't worry about it." She got to her feet, gave Sandry one last hug, and then slipped out of the doorway just as Jonathon opened the door and walked in. He turned his head as Daja darted past him, and then looked back at Sandry, rather bemused.

She took a deep breath and beckoned him over. "Jon," she began tentatively, "I have something to tell you…"


	12. Chapter Twelve

A/N: Merry Christmas, everybody! First off, I want to ask you a few favours. Two of my close friends post stories here on **mobbyrules **and **Zazzi. **Their stuff is wonderful and hilarious and I would love it if some of you would go over and have a look at it. Second, I'd love it if some of you would have a look at www. livejournal. com/users/ rowenaevans – just take out the spaces. This is my livejournal, where I keep some of my ficlets, and where news of updates and new fics goes up first.

Alanna passed a hand over her forehead, exhausted. Next to her, Gary frowned and laid a hand on her arm. "Is something wrong?" he whispered, concerned. She shook her head; truly, there wasn't. She was only tired, and she had been feeling absolutely awful all day, and now she had to eat all this horrible rich food and dance. She sighed and smiled tiredly at him, and he relaxed, comforted.

She was beginning to have her suspicions, actually. She didn't _get _ill, she had never been ill in her life, she considered people who got ill to be generally self-pitying fools who didn't get out in the fresh air enough. It wasn't like her to suddenly start feeling so tired, when there was no reason to do so. And she had thrown up that morning, and now just _looking _at the foods she had loved a month or so ago made her want to be sick again…

All right, more than suspicions. She was _terrified. _There was something _inside_ her, growing, like some horrible little clawing thing burrowing away. She was definitely not ready for this.

She winced as her stomach rolled, and took a sip of her wine, smiling at the acrobats who were providing the entertainment. She would have to go to see a healer tomorrow, get herself checked. And then… if it turned out that she _was _pregnant… she would have to tell Gary.

Above her head came the sound of giggling, and she glanced up to see some of the courtiers' children peering over the edge of the gallery. She smiled at the fresh faces, and bit her lip surreptitiously. Maybe it wouldn't be so very bad to have a child- but that didn't make pregnancy any less frightening. She shuddered, and took another sip of her wine. Across the table Cythera caught her eye and smiled, and Alanna imagined she could see the same tired quality in Cyth's smile as in her own. How long had it been- six weeks since the marriage? Married at the same time, it would make sense…

Perhaps it was just her own desire to have some company. Of course, it would be _wonderful _if Cyth was pregnant as well, but that was rather a lot to project on to one smile. She glanced over at Sandry and Jon, who were both grinning and laughing. Well, Sandry appeared to be happy enough, at least. And Jonathon was looking ecstatic, joking around with Raoul and laughing his head off, one arm curled protectively around his wife.

Gods, this was going to be tiring. She was about to decide that she had a headache and had to retire when Briar, who was leaning against the wall behind the acrobats and carrying on a murmured conversation with Tris, caught her eye and winked at her. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't resist smiling back. She hadn't spoken to Briar in days- he didn't seem to be around much these days. Actually, she didn't know _where _he'd been. He'd been joining Gary and her for the early morning practices out in the courtyard, but then he would disappear and she wouldn't see him for the rest of the day. She made a mental note to catch up with him; she liked Briar, and besides, her curiosity was piqued now. Next to Briar stood Tris, and Daja was sitting over by Sandry. She noticed that Sandry and Daja, who would normally have been chattering to the people around then, were being unusually quiet. Every now and then they would smile simultaneously, and- yes, Briar and Tris were doing the same. Alanna was quite good at picking up the signs of a mind-to-mind conversation these days, and they weren't exactly being subtle about it. She was itching to know what was so exciting that they were all getting so worked up about it, but she could hardly drag Sandry off in the middle of the festival. She tried to concentrate on the acrobats, who were currently leaping on ribbons from the gallery, but it was difficult.

By the time the ball was over, Alanna was more exhausted than ever. She had had to dance for at least an hour, although admittedly she had spent most of the time being gracefully propped up by Gary, who had picked up on is wife's fatigue by this point and was treating her gently. Part of her wanted nothing more in the world than to collapse into her bed and go to sleep in her husband's arms, but she was still stubborn enough to be hopelessly curious about her friends' secret. Murmuring something to Gary, she slipped away as the guests started to drain out of the hall and waylaid the quartet.

Sandry glanced over at her and smiled, holding out a hand for the redhead to take. Alanna slipped her hand into Sandry's proffered one and sidled into the quartet, who appeared to have shed Jon and Raoul. Behind them, Cythera came lightly running, slipping in next to Alanna. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Why have you all been looking so secretive?"

"We're going to see the healer," Tris said firmly.

Cythera blinked. "Now? But it's the middle of the night-"

"Now." Tris's tone brooked no argument, and Cythera frowned.

"Why? Is somebody hurt?"

Briar grinned wickedly at her. "Oh, _no. _Everybody's _fine. _More than fine, in fact. Sandry-"

"Briar!" snapped Sandry, who was looking flustered. "We don't know for sure yet-"

"Yes we do," Daja interrupted, "I told you, Sandry, we can _feel _his heart beating."

Alanna stared, her mind racing. "Whose heart? You're- Sandry, you're _pregnant?_ Does Jon know?"

Sandry flushed. "We don't know yet," she defended herself, "-not for _sure, _anyway," she added defensively, as Daja rolled her eyes and started scolding her again. "That's why we're going to see the healer…"

"Oh, Goddess," Alanna said faintly. Cythera was looking white. Briar, glancing between the two of them, suddenly cackled with glee.

"What is it?" Tris asked, frowning. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," Briar said airily, sticking his hands in his pockets and winking at Alanna and Cyth. "The healer'll tell you." And with that, he sauntered off ahead of them, leaving Alanna to scowl menacingly at his back.


End file.
